With the scent of wine in his essence, he sipped the bottle.
Everyone else had gone home, but he was still there.
So was another.
Enjolras stood up, walked over to Grantaire's table, and sat down. Grantaire looked up; he was still observant through intoxication. The red-donning lad didn't step with tired feet– in fact, his steps were a bit anxious.
"Something wrong, my am.. amis?" Grantaire enquired as Enjolras placed his hands on the table, twiddling and twirling his thumbs.
"No, just a bit… nervous, I guess," Enjolras sighed.
Grantaire leaned closer, close enough whereas Enjolras could smell the alcohol on him. "What about?"
Pulling back, his face ablaze as his heart, he scoffed. "About nothing," Enjolras muttered, as a warm hand crawled over his.
Grantaire's hand ensnared with Enjolras'. Grantaire's other hand, however, traced up and down Enjolras' cheek, reaching down his shoulder, down to his forearm, and then on the side of his neck, Grantaire's fingers grasping and caressing the lower part of Enjolras' hair, and his thumb brushing his ear.
Enjolras looked down at his hand, which he had somehow found to be lovingly placed atop Grantaire's. As they leaned inwards, they looked down, but when their heads touched, their heads arose, their noses touching first at they stare into each others' eyes ands souls. Actually, their souls were not staring into eachother– they had become one. This one soul, beautiful yet invisible, cause them to angle their heads at a perfect angle to press their heads together and their lips entwine and their hearts entangle.